“I never realized how important my parents are to me until Gary’s parents started wanting to be my parents, too,” Elaine says. “I already have parents.”
You know, I think this is the first time Elaine has confided a problem to me. It obviously makes her as uncomfortable as it does me.
“I hope your aisle is long enough for my dress,” Elaine says before we can actually talk about her problem. “The place doesn’t look that big.”
“It’s big enough,” I say as I start to lead the way down the sidewalk toward the Big M. It’s fine by me if she doesn’t want to talk about the problems with her soon-to-be in-laws. I don’t know what I would say about everything right now anyway except Run, Elaine, Run.
I ring the buzzer when I get to the front door of the Big M. I have a key, but I don’t want the guard inside to wonder what is happening so I wait for him to come to the door. There are often funerals on Saturdays, but there aren’t any today so Mr. Z rearranged the staff schedule to be sure no one, except the guard, had to work this weekend.
We stop at the restrooms and I wait for everyone to assemble before I lead the way again. I am glad I put on a dress today. Aunt Inga is wearing an old cotton dress that she’s worn many times before, but Aunt Ruth has on a tailored suit with lapels and everything. She’s even got a fuchsia scarf pinned around her neck that matches the lipstick on her face. My mother is wearing a white blouse and designer jeans, but she’s got high heels on her feet so she looks like a model.
Aunt Ruth is the first one to walk into the chapel at the Big M. She looks down the long center aisle with its deep burgundy carpet, but she doesn’t walk down it. Instead, she walks along the back of the pews and goes down the left side aisle. Her shoe heels make a clicking sound on the wood, because there is no carpet on the outside aisles.
I am watching Aunt Ruth so I don’t see someone come up next to me.
“She’s calculating how many people can sit on each side,” my mother says. “The bride’s side. The groom’s side. She wants to be sure her side wins.”
I turn to look at my mother. I should have gone over to her and given her a hug while we were outside standing beside the cars, but I didn’t do it the second I saw her and then Elaine started talking about her in-law troubles and it seemed it would look like an afterthought to go hug my mother when she’d already been standing outside Aunt Inga’s car for five minutes. I can’t remember the last time I gave my mother a hug anyway. Sometimes we hug before I leave Las Vegas, but usually we’re too self-conscious to hug at first sight. It’s something we have to kind of work up to.
“There’s no way Gary’s side will have more people than Elaine’s,” I say to her so she knows I’m at least following her conversation. “I think Aunt Ruth invited everyone who knows Elaine.”
“She’s proud of her daughter,” my mother says and she puts her hand on my shoulder.
I kind of expect my mother to say she is proud of me, too, so I don’t say anything to ruin the moment in case the moment is coming. But nothing happens, except that my mother takes her hand off my shoulder and points to the stained glass window. “That’s beautiful.”
I forgot that the stained glass window glows like this when the late-afternoon sun hits it on a slant. It’s almost impossible to ignore the window when that happens and I had hoped Aunt Ruth and Elaine would have enough time to notice things like the soft sheen of the carved wood on the inside columns at the front of the church before they saw the sheep.
“The stained glass window won’t be so obvious in the wedding,” I say before Aunt Ruth can demand it be covered. “It’s just late afternoon that it looks like this with the sun pouring through.”
Aunt Ruth nods from where she’s standing at the front of the church.
“It’s nice,” Aunt Ruth finally says.
I can see we are all going to try really hard to be positive. That will either save us or doom us. I’m not sure which.
“Lambs are clean animals, aren’t they?” Elaine says as she walks down the center aisle to where her mother is standing. “And, at least, they don’t bark or anything so no one will make a rude sound during the ceremony like they might if it was a cow or something.”
“Oh, no, lambs are definitely better than cows,” Aunt Ruth agrees.
“And the lamb is with Jesus,” Elaine says. “Gary’s parents can’t object to Jesus.”
Actually, from what I saw of them at Elaine’s engagement party, I wouldn’t be too sure about that. They looked as if they could object to anyone.
“The organ has built-in pipes,” I add as I point to where the pipes are located on each side of the altar. They are tucked behind the wood columns. “The sound they make is great.”
“Organ music is good,” Uncle Howard says as he walks up the aisle to join his wife and daughter.
I was surprised to see Uncle Howard step out of the car here earlier even though I had heard he’d stopped hiding in the bedroom. When he reaches Aunt Ruth and Elaine, he puts an arm around each of them. That’s sweet and not usual for him. Maybe these troubles have been good for all of them if they appreciate each other more.
I look over at Jerry. He is standing in a little half booth to the side in the back of the chapel.
“Do you want to test the sound out?” Jerry asks as he speaks into a microphone. It’s obviously a rhetorical question because he continues without looking up. “Testing One. Two. Three.”
“The singer we hire can stand there,” Elaine says as she turns around to look at Jerry.
“Usually the soloist is in the front of the church,” I say and then remember my vow to be pleasant. “But a break from tradition can be good.”
I notice all of the aunts and Elaine looking at me.
“We were hoping you might know someone who sings,” Elaine finally says. “I haven’t lined anyone up yet and you mentioned you did have people who sang solos here.”
“They’re funeral songs,” I say. “You know, the old hymns. You’ll want something light and romantic for your wedding. I thought you had someone for music.”
Elaine shrugs. “I did, but they were going to do some of the Beatles’ songs. Gary’s parents thought that wouldn’t be dignified for a wedding.”
“I’m not sure we have anything more dignified,” I say. I can’t suggest Mr. Strett. He’s pretty dour even for funerals. He’d look very out of place at a wedding. “Besides, the person you had coming can sing the songs softly. Gary’s parents probably wouldn’t even recognize the songs then.”
I wonder, and not for the first time, what Elaine is doing, thinking she even wants to marry into this family.
“Gary’s mother thought maybe I should have someone sing some classical music,” Elaine says and it’s plain to see she’s miserable. “Maybe something in French or Italian.”
“Well, where would we get someone like that?” Jerry asks from over by the sound system. “Maybe I could find an old CD or something.”
“I can get you an opera singer,” my mother says. She’s walked halfway down the center aisle and is sitting in one of the pews. “We have one where I work.”
“I don’t think someone who sings in a casino is suitable for Elaine’s wedding,” Aunt Ruth says sharply.
My mother shrugs. “The woman is classically trained. She’s had solos at Carnegie Hall.”
With those credentials, I expect Aunt Ruth to gladly accept the offer, but she doesn’t. There’s silence until Aunt Inga clears her throat.
“It’s such a generous offer.” Aunt Inga is walking down the aisle to where Aunt Ruth stands with Elaine and Uncle Howard. “Don’t you think we should accept?”
“Gary’s parents couldn’t object to an opera singer,” Elaine says. “It would be one less thing for us to worry about.”
Aunt Ruth nods and looks over at my mother. “I guess we have to accept. We’ll pay the woman, of course.”
My mother lifts one of her eyebrows. “Of course.”
I would h
ave thought the offer of the opera singer would soften the feelings Aunt Ruth and my mother have toward each other, but it doesn’t. They both spend the next hour or so measuring and remeasuring various parts of the chapel.
“Jerry already measured those,” I finally say quietly to Aunt Inga.
Aunt Inga is sitting down on one of the back pews. “I know.”
I sit down beside her. “Then why are they still measuring?”
I know I have vowed to be nice about all of this, but it’s driving me crazy to see my mother measure something and then Aunt Ruth go and measure the exact same thing. Jerry made the mistake of giving them each a tape measure when they questioned his measurement on the far right aisle.
“They’re still working things out with each other,” Aunt Inga says. “Neither one of them wants to trust the other.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I say to Aunt Inga as I sit down beside her. “At this rate, we’ll all be dead before they figure out their problem.”
Aunt Inga smiles.
I think to myself how silly Aunt Ruth and my mother are and then I happen to glance over at Elaine who is sitting in the back pew on the other side of the church. I guess I can’t criticize Aunt Ruth and my mother for having a problem with each other when I have this thing between Elaine and me.
“It’s all because Aunt Ruth never liked my grandmother,” I say to Aunt Inga so I won’t have to think about Elaine and me. Our problem is different anyway.
Aunt Inga looked at me. “I wouldn’t say Ruth never liked your grandmother. She would handle it better if she hadn’t.”
“Well, she never liked the way my grandmother lived her life, I know that for a fact. She complained that my grandmother didn’t work hard enough and liked pretty things and wanted to have some fun.”
“It’s true she complained,” Aunt Inga says. “But that’s why she’s so hard on your grandmother’s memory. She feels disloyal to our mother.”
“Why would she feel that?”
Aunt Inga nods. “Watch your mother and Aunt Ruth for a while. You’ll see for yourself what their problem is.”
By now the afternoon light has turned to dusk. I watch my mother and Aunt Ruth for a few minutes and then Uncle Howard announces he’ll take us all out to eat somewhere.
We go to a Mediterranean restaurant that is close by and, all the time, I am watching my mother and Aunt Ruth to see what the secret to their animosity is. I wonder if Aunt Inga is making me figure this one out for myself because she wants me to really think about it. I’m not sure I want a relationship like Aunt Ruth and my mother have, but whether I want it or not, I have one like it with Elaine. I wonder if the coldness between Aunt Ruth and my mother has anything to do with Aunt Ruth calling my mother her half sister instead of just her sister, but I figure it has to be deeper than that.
When we leave the restaurant and I get ready to get into Jerry’s pickup, I go over to Elaine and give her a quick hug.
“Don’t worry about your wedding,” I whisper. “It’s in good hands.”
Elaine looks at me as if I’ve taken leave of my senses and maybe I have.
“What was that about?” Jerry says when I climb into his pickup.
“I thought I’d try this new-rules thing with Elaine,” I say. “It didn’t work.”
“Yeah, well, it’s Elaine,” Jerry says as he backs out of his parking space.
I go to sleep that night counting stained glass sheep while waiting for my mother and Aunt Ruth to finish measuring the chapel. I wonder if the thing Aunt Inga wanted me to notice was that neither one of them can add. And they both were whipping those cloth measuring tapes around like they were ropes. Or long, skinny scarves.
I wake up in the middle of the night with those tape measures on my mind. Isn’t it a little unusual that both of them had the same hand movements, as though they’d spent hours and hours flipping long scarves off of their necks for no other reason than that it showed they had style? Just like my grandmother had done?
I wish it wasn’t too late to call Aunt Inga.
I do manage to go back to sleep even after I have The Revelation. Before I know it, morning is here and I am wondering if this “ah-ha-I-get-it” feeling is what prophets felt thousands of years ago. I’m sleeping on the air mattress in Cassie’s bedroom and the sun is just beginning to rise so it’s easy to imagine I’m an Old Testament prophet in a cave somewhere with all of the grayness around me. If I had some of Jerry’s old socks in here to bring up the wet, musty smell, it would be totally convincing.
I can’t believe it. I would never have wondered how prophets managed to sleep through the night with all the things they had rattling around in their heads until those conversations I’ve been having with Doug and Jerry and Cassie about things in the Bible. Who knew the Bible people were like, well, real people who couldn’t sleep at night?
I wonder if those prophets felt the way I do now. I can’t wait to tell Aunt Inga what I’ve concluded. Of course, Aunt Inga is not too likely to behead me if I’m wrong so maybe this enthusiasm I’m feeling wasn’t quite the same for the prophets of old. Especially because they didn’t just have to worry about being wrong. They were often in more trouble if they were right.
Oh. That makes me ask myself if I could be in trouble if I’m right about Aunt Ruth and my mother doing the scarf thing as my grandmother used to do. And, even if I’m right, I’m not sure what it means. Were they like little ducks being imprinted on my scarf-waving grandmother? Maybe my aunt Ruth gives my mother such a hard time because she wanted to have my grandmother for her real mother, too.
I debate about waking up Jerry. He would love to get in on this duck and prophet conversation. But then I decide to be kind. Jerry asked Cassie at dinner last night to ask if he could invite everyone over for oatmeal this morning and, in the shock of the moment, she agreed. So, he will be up and wishing he were either a dead prophet or a dead duck soon enough anyway.
I hear a soft knocking on the bedroom door and a whisper. “Julie?”
I don’t answer because I don’t want to wake up Cassie so I just grab my robe and go into the living area.
Jerry has taken every dish out of the cupboard. Cassie bought that set of white dishes when she moved down to Hollywood from Blythe two years ago.
“We don’t have enough bowls,” Jerry whispers. “There’s only six bowls and there will be eight of us.”
I take pity on the poor boy. He’ll realize soon enough that he only has three chairs, counting the box he turns upside down for himself. “I can use my coffee cup.”
His face brightens. “I can do that, too. So we’ll have enough.”
I walk over and turn the switch on for the coffee to begin brewing.
“And I can sit on the floor beside the coffee table,” I add just to give him a clue.
“Oh, that’s right,” Jerry says as he looks around as though he’s never seen this room before. “We need to have chairs.”
Fortunately, it’s early and there’s a hardware store not too far from here that opens at six every morning. Jerry takes off to buy a couple of folding chairs and I go to take a shower.
By the time Cassie gets up, Jerry is back with the four folding chairs and has even managed to buy a dozen bagels with different kinds of cream cheeses: strawberry, cinnamon, blueberry and onion.
“It’ll be a feast,” I say. “The aunts will love it.”
It turns out I might have a knack for this prophetic stuff. Just as Jerry has a knack for entertaining. Two hours later, we are all sitting in Cassie’s place and everyone is looking well-fed and relaxed. Well, except for Elaine, but that’s to be expected since she’s getting married so soon.
We’ve been talking about ways to decorate the hallway between the wedding chapel and the courtyard so that the guests will not even see the doors that go into the rooms the Big M uses for their final viewings.
Aunt Inga has asked if there’s a church nearby and I think we are all going together to a service.
I am just starting to become aware of how much Aunt Inga is the mother of our whole family. I used to feel that she was just my substitute mother, but I sit there realizing she’s probably been a fill-in mother to at least two other people. If I’m calculating the dates right, Aunt Ruth was two years old when the aunts’ mother died. Aunt Inga was the oldest and she must have stood in as the mother figure for the ten years until my grandmother came along. And, since Aunt Inga was the oldest, she was probably the substitute parent again for my mother when my grandmother died.
I sit and try to puzzle it out. Why aren’t Aunt Ruth and my mother imprinted on Aunt Inga instead of my grandmother? I look at Aunt Inga more closely. She’s neat in her appearance, but there’s no swirling scarf style to her at all. Her hair is cropped in a short no-nonsense style. She wears the same style of basic cotton dress. She must have a half-dozen dresses in the same style. Only the color is different and even that doesn’t range too far from the drab colors. There’s no fuchsia or turquoise or red in her wardrobe.
All of a sudden it hits me. Aunt Inga is like her mother. And then it hits me again. I wonder how Aunt Inga felt about Aunt Ruth and my mother idolizing my grandmother when she, Aunt Inga, had the hard task of raising them both. Aunt Inga probably did all of the housework, the cooking and the kissing of any bruised knees. Actually, she is still doing Aunt Ruth’s housework. And, all that time, my grandmother was the one who got the glory. If I was Aunt Inga, I would feel jealous and maybe even a little betrayed.
I’m not so sure I like this prophet business anymore. I only have to take things one step further to wonder if Aunt Inga’s insistence on us being a family is her way of trying to fix all of those earlier feelings of jealousy, betrayal and discouragement. She’s still doing the hard part of trying to make us a family.
Wow. I am still looking at the scene of my family spread out before me, but everything has changed. I stand up from where I am sitting on the sofa and just casually walk over to put my hand on Aunt Inga’s shoulder. She’s sitting on the folding chair closest to the kitchen area.
“Jerry and I will get the dishes,” I say as I give Aunt Inga’s shoulder a squeeze. “You guys just sit a minute and rest some more.”
Going to the Chapel Page 23
